Chapter 7 - The Master of Blackwood
When Sadi returned to the mansion, she was escorted not to Suite 2B, but to Victor’s private library on the top floor of the West Wing.
The library was a breathtaking room—two stories tall, with spiral brass staircases, thousands of leather-bound books, and a massive glass dome that looked out over the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean far below.
Victor sat at a broad oak reading table near the window, reviewing a thick stack of shipping manifests. He was dressed in a dark charcoal suit, looking composed, powerful, and impeccably sharp.
“Leave us,” Victor said without looking up from his papers.
Marcus bowed slightly and retreated, closing the heavy oak library doors behind him.
Sadi stood near the center of the room, her hands folded in front of her cream sweater, feeling small against the grand architecture of the library.
Victor laid his pen down on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and looked at her. His gray eyes scanned her new clothes, her wrapped hands, and the subtle return of color to her face.
“How is your brother?” Victor asked.
“He’s... he’s wonderful,” Sadi said, her voice full of genuine emotion. “The doctors started his preliminary blood filtering this morning. They said his prognosis is better than it’s ever been. Thank you, Mr. Costello. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“I don't require your gratitude, Sadi,” Victor said smoothly. “I require your utility.”
He gestured to the leather chair across from his desk. “Sit.”
Sadi walked over and sat down on the edge of the chair.
“You asked last night what your new duties would be,” Victor continued, steepling his fingers. “As of today, you are my personal secretary.”
Sadi blinked in surprise. “Secretary? Mr. Costello, I don't have a degree in administration. I was an art history major before my parents passed away—”
“I don't need an administrator,” Victor interrupted flatly. “I have twenty accountants and lawyers who manage the legal holdings. What I need is someone who manages my private schedule, my personal correspondence, and the confidential documents that pass through this house.”
He leaned forward, his dark eyebrows locking onto her.
“In my business, information is far more dangerous than bullets. My former secretary was compromised three weeks ago by a syndicate in Boston. He sold two shipping schedules for fifty thousand dollars. He is currently resting at the bottom of the bay.”
Sadi swallowed hard, feeling a sudden chill run through her veins despite her thick sweater.
“I selected you,” Victor explained, “because you have proven three things: you do not break under extreme pressure, you care nothing for corporate greed, and you understand the cost of betrayal. You will work in my office six days a week. You will handle my private phone lines, organize my personal accounts, and oversee the security details for this wing.”
“And if I make a mistake?” Sadi asked softly.
Victor stared at her for three long seconds.
“You won't make a mistake,” Victor said, his tone entirely devoid of threat, sounding merely like a statement of absolute truth. “Because you know that as long as you are faithful to me, your brother will want for nothing in this life. His medical bills, his education, his future—it is all guaranteed by my signature.”
He pushed a sleek silver tablet and a stack of leather folders across the oak table toward her.
“Your training begins today,” Victor said, picking up his pen. “Start by digitizing those manifest logs from the harbor.”
Sadi reached out, taking the leather folders into her hands. The leather was thick, cold, and smelled of wealth and authority.
May you like
She realized then the true nature of her contract with Victor Costello. He hadn't just bought her freedom from Mick O’Shea; he had woven her into the very fabric of his empire. She was no longer an outsider looking in through the cracks of the baseboards.
She was standing inside the inner vault of the syndicate.
